<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>rooftop rains &amp; silent songs by mehan kartik (daydreamingstoryteller)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432626">rooftop rains &amp; silent songs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamingstoryteller/pseuds/mehan%20kartik'>mehan kartik (daydreamingstoryteller)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Definitions of Memories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Poetic, Prose Poem, Song: Listen Before I Go (Billie Eilish), Song: Lovely (Billie Eilish), Song: Yellow (Coldplay)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamingstoryteller/pseuds/mehan%20kartik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"aimonomia"</em>
</p><p>n. fear that learning the name of something—a bird, a constellation, an attractive stranger—will somehow ruin it, transforming a lucky discovery into a conceptual husk pinned in a glass case, which leaves one less mystery to flutter around your head, trying to get in.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Karitk Singh &amp; The Rain, Kartik Singh &amp; Life, Kartik Singh &amp; The World, Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Definitions of Memories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>rooftop rains &amp; silent songs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=our+unspoken+companions">our unspoken companions</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rain pelted down the concrete tiles rhythmically as if the skies themselves were putting on a concert for just one soul. The clouds hung low on the night sky, dark and grey, blocking the shine of the moon. Yet the multitude of stars shone through the little gaps like children playing peek-a-boo. Thunder bellowed across the buildings like a lion roar waiting for its feast. Seemingly harmless yet ready to strike any that dared taunt it. Lightning crackled in the distance, piercing through the veil that hung over the otherwise normal night.</p><p>It wasn’t like any other night nor like any other storm. The sounds of the water and air bustling through the trees blocked out the other sounds of the streets and town. It was as if everything else quieted down to let the storm take the centre stage. Everything was quiet except the rain and everything else was dark except the stars in the sky. At least from where he was standing. </p><p>Kartik climbed up the last step of the stairs and into the doorway leading out to the rooftop. He let the bag he had on him fall to the floor, under the shelter before toeing off his shoes he’d just put on minutes ago.  He walked out properly into the roof. Step by step, his toes clenching onto the chilly concrete as he tried not to slip away. His clothes were soaking wet  within minutes and they clung to his young wiry frame like moths to a light source. </p><p>He stood at the centre of the space, drenched and cold. He closed his eyes and pressed his feet into the concrete as hard as he could. He stood still. His arms came up around him to hold himself together. To hold in all the emotions that were tumbling through. He felt every chill that ran down his frame from his feet on the floor to the raindrops on his head. He traced the water falling down his hair and face, as if they were caressing him. </p><p>He opened his eyes and stared out at the once bustling night and scoured every inch of the town he could see. He looked past the houses, the temple, the shops and out into the trees and forest that lay beyond the edge skirts of the town. He could hear faint echoes of the memories that lay within those streets and dirt roads. He could almost hear the life from the houses nearby. </p><p>He etched them into his memory one last time as he tried to look for the one thing he needed most then. But his heart already knew he could never find it. He breathed in the rain and the smell of all the life that had ever lived in that house and breathed out all his uncertainty and fear. </p><p>He walked back out to the staircase that spiralled down to the ground that would lead him away. He gently grabbed his bag and slipped on his shoes. He imagined everything that he’d turned his back on, the full image of the town that he had just memorized for the last time. He walked down the steps slowly. Each step he took reminding him again and again that he had made the right decision. He didn’t find what he was looking for anyway. </p><p>He’d stood there in the rain for almost thirty minutes and he never found it. </p><p>He never found a reason to stay. <br/>
It wasn’t home anymore anyway. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
“1. Monachopsis<br/>
<em>n</em>. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place”</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_O3ZCPtEQA"> <em>“Listen before I go" by Billie Eilish but you're on an abandoned rooftop</em> </a>
</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed the keys from his pockets tightly as he slowly pulled them out. He thumbed through the three lone keys before getting to the newest edition. It was steel and rough in his fingers. It felt old but looked new. He gripped it gently and slotted it into the door and turned. </p><p>
  <em>Click click </em>
</p><p>The first place he’d ever own. His own place. His first home. He took a deep breath and opened the door. It was dark. It was almost night outside and the darkness of the apartment added to the loneliness that was creeping in. Kartik grabbed his small luggage - the few bags that held everything that he’d gained in his college years - and walked into the house. His one sole bag that he had from when he ran away from home was slung onto his shoulders. </p><p>It rested gently on his back like a shield between him and everything else the world could throw at him. The stabs, the stares, the barbs and knives and words. He placed down all his measly luggage at the foot of the door and slipped out of his shoes. He closed the door behind him and turned back into the almost empty house. </p><p>It looked like any other apartment he’d been in but without anything to show that it belonged to someone. It was empty of anything that made it a home. Kartik didn’t turn on the lights as he walked forward. The darkness of the house helped him see the place clearer anyway. The lights would have made it into something it’s not. </p><p>A home isn’t built in what other people can see of it when they vi9it but what’s left behind in the nights for the owners to live in. </p><p>He walked forward through the sparsely furnished living room that welcomed him into it’s heart. His hands roamed onto the leather of the couch, drifting across the material as if he was saying hello. He gripped it gently, like one would a friend that was always there. He moved on slowly to the wooden table in the corner that held three four chairs. Perhaps a few too many because there was no reason for him to get many guests. Still, the extra chairs were nice to keep as a hope to hold on to. </p><p>Finally, his eyes drifted to the sole tv standing in the corner against the wall, waiting to be used. The black glossy screen reflected his tall silhouette back at him using the limited moonlight shining through the windows. He followed the moonbeam and turned around to see the balcony that faced him. Kartik walked towards it and opened the glass doors gingerly as if opening something precious. </p><p>The wind ripped through his tousled hair as the glass door moved under his trembling and chilly hands. His eyes closed shut of their own accord as the smells of home cooked channa assaulted him from the neighbouring balcony. His feet carried him onto the outside world - his new neighbourhood - and the moment he hit the edge his hands clasped around the railing to hold him steady. </p><p>He could hear the children laughing and playing cricket on the street below, and the distant sound of a tv from another apartment. It echoed through the sheer emptiness of the house behind him. The house that was waiting to be filled. He swallowed down the sensation of something new that was bubbling in his throat. He focused on the sound of his keys clinking against the railing he was holding onto as a lifeline. The only thing anchoring him to that very moment. </p><p>He let his mind wander to every promise that the space held and every dream that this apartment fulfilled. He felt a sudden splash of water hit his face as the clouds started to slowly drain themselves down. He let the little shower wash his face of any fear, wariness and heartache that he had. </p><p>He breathed out. He opened his eyes ... and he looked up at the stars that shone down on him with light and hope. </p><p> </p><p>“2. Ambedo<br/>
<em>n</em>. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details”</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BW6fOwJ5otE"> <em>“Lovely” by Billie Ellish ft Khalid but you are in an empty arena</em> </a>
</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The bike stuttered out to a stop into the alley in front of their apartment. Everything was soft like how only the after midnight hours could stifle humanity. The heavy night had quietened everyone else around the neighborhood and the rain had silenced the rest of the odd sounds. The two figures got off the bike, completely soaked through from head to toe, still grasping onto each other as if their contact itself would help warm them up. </p><p>Kartik left Aman to park the bike and went to climb the stairs without even mentioning any word to his new husband. The thoughts and memories from the past few hectic days and nights in Allahabad hung off both their postures like a burden. It was one that was filled with relief, love and happiness, yet tinged with the exhaustion of pain, fear and disappointment too. </p><p>Kartik held all of it on his body; carried it like a badge of pride. He carried them on the same shoulders that bore red marks that were evidence of another kind of pride, and defiance. He climbed up the stairs hesitantly, as if every step he climbs was a step closer to a reality that he was not yet ready to face. </p><p>It was as if his mind had still clung onto a thought and primal fear -<em> what if it was all fake? </em></p><p>He finally reached the end of the stairs, in front of the iron gate that he had made his home long ago. His first home. He stilled and let his eyes close. The sounds of thunder broke him out of his revere, startling him. It made him self-conscious like a child’s laughter would. It was as if the clouds themselves were laughing at him. Or were they laughing with him? Kartik didn’t know for sure but he wanted it to be the latter. </p><p>He could smell the rain still pouring outside. The air was dark and damp yet fresh, as the perfume of wet concrete and dirt mixed together inside the humid walls. Karitk needed to breathe it all in. </p><p>He turned away from the door and continued upwards, closer to the skies. His body and feet tracked water and mud through all three flights of stairs as he finally came to the peak. The closest place to the stars that he could reach in this building he calls home. </p><p>He stepped out onto the roof, somehow barefoot without even noticing or remembering when he had discarded his shoes. He was in a trance, mesmerized by the sounds of life all around him in that hauntingly still night. The rain wailed at him as if asking him to go back inside to the safety of four warm walls. Yet, he only took that harsh spray of water as an invitation to join in on the fun. </p><p>He stopped in a corner of the limitless room that held no ceiling.  He knew all the ins and outs of it. His body moved before his mind could will it. He ended up at the best vantage point in the entire vast but small cornered space. </p><p>It was then he realized that he’d had his eyes up at the sky or closed the entire time. He finally let his eyes wander down to eye level. He cast his gaze out like a fishing rod onto the view before him. </p><p>The same view that he’d been privy to every day and night now seemed vastly different. It felt like a world of possibilities and yet it felt like the road that leads back to home. If he squinted the streetlights still working in some streets almost looked like yellow brick roads. </p><p>A small gust of air left his chapped lips as a soft laugh was forced out. It warmed the air around his face for all but a second before the rain washed it away too. Kartik let the yellow lights from the streets below and the twinkling lights from the skies above wash over the entire image. </p><p>He slowly sat down, criss crossed in the corner and leaned his head against the concrete wall behind him.  He let those walls that he’d given permission to house him hold him for a moment. He let all of the weights that he’d been carrying down onto the slab of cool drywall behind him. </p><p>It would hold. </p><p>It had held much more over the years. It would hold him now. Baggage all included. </p><p>Kartik leaned back and let his eyes wander to the stars. He let them close as the winds around him grew colder. It felt like being dunked into an ice cold stream. The kind of streams that only reside in hidden nature. Those that are a miracle to find, painful to touch yet reviving to dive in. </p><p>He stayed there for minutes, letting the sounds of the night and the crickets and the wind dancing in the trees lull him into a sense of contentment. He lost track of time but it wasn’t long before he felt a warm presence near him. </p><p>His eyes stayed closed as he felt a body pressing into his own from the side. They fit together like a puzzle piece. The silent strumming of everything around them remained as he felt a head slot into the crook of his neck. </p><p>They breathed together. Side by side. Still. Content. <br/>
More minutes passed and the ache of the chill began to seep too much into his bones. Kartik gently moved away and stood up. The cold was comforting but maybe he could experience it while being warm too. </p><p>A hand reached out. Another grasped it with all the right of an owner grabbing his prized possession. Two pairs of footsteps trodded down the stairs and into an open door. </p><p>Still silent. </p><p>A soft click of the door locking behind them. The shuffling of socks on the ceramic tiles. A clank of a steel kettle set on the stove. The rushing streams of a hot shower that washed away the cold natural one from before. A whistle. </p><p>Kartik slowly picked up the hot drink in his hands and walked towards the balcony that overlooked the small garden below. He stayed watching the rain continue to fall but now wrapped up in a warm hoodie that reminded him of the yellow of the stars. </p><p>He heard footsteps behind him and felt two arms snaking up from behind. They wrapped around his middle and held him close. He could feel the small puffs of hot breath on his back. A gentle pull tugged him towards the couch that stood facing the same balcony. </p><p>Two tired souls rested themselves onto the couch and each other. Still intertwined. </p><p>And as the night grew darker and the sounds of the world fell deeper, they stayed there. Watching the world still go on. </p><p>It always went on. It always will. No matter  what. </p><p>Minutes later.  a lone whispered confession slipped into the night as everything else fell into the background noise in the symphony of life. Everything else was the tempo and beat but this was the only melody that could be heard in that one moment of a song. </p><p>“We’re okay.” </p><p> </p><p><br/>
“3. Énouement <br/>
<em>n</em>. the bitter-sweetness of arriving at the future, seeing how things turned out, but not being able to tell your past self.”</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9zETub_Fnw"> <em>“Yellow” by Coldplay but it's raining and you're staring at the wall</em> </a>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy new year ❤❤</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>